


Fallen Angel

by Racethewind_10



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Fall is to Choose, something angels cannot do. An angel’s will belongs to God. Only humans, weak and mortal though they are, are granted the power ofchoice. Thus, it is in the act of choice itself that the catalyst lies.</p><p>In the midst of a war, surrounded by enemies, at what must surely be the worst time in all of history for such a thing… Regina chooses. </p><p>Trigger warnings for blood and character death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Webgeekist for curbing the worst of my grammar abuses. All mistakes are my own.

To Fall is to Choose, something angels cannot do. An angel’s will belongs to God. Only humans, weak and mortal though they are, are granted the power of choice. Thus, it is in the act of choice itself that the catalyst lies.

In the midst of a war, surrounded by enemies, at what must surely be the worst time in all of history for such a thing… Regina chooses. 

Falling isn't immediate. There's no burst of light or crack of thunder - angels aren't cast out by the furious Hand, not thrown down by the Creator herself nor pulled down to the solid plane of earth by the laws of nature. 

Nothing so clean or dramatic.

It’s metamorphic, a gradual process that once begun, can't be stopped. Emma hasn't figured it out yet, she's too busy protecting her infant child. Regina can’t fault her. They’ve bothbeen - well, busy is what the humans would call an understatement. The legions of Hell aren't easy to evade, even for an experienced bounty hunter and a guardian angel. So far, Regina has been successful in hiding what's happening to her. 

Her deception won't remain undiscovered for long.

She can only hope it's long enough.

Day by day, Regina can feel herself getting weaker, the power of God that flowed in her veins ebbing slowly as ichor gives way to mortal claret.  A week ago she slept for the first time and when she woke, a heart beat in her chest.  A part of her - the angel who was created not born, who has worship of her maker's creations stamped in the very stardust in her bones - feels awed at the rhythmic pulse, but only a part. Regina hasn't Fallen so far as to have forgotten her duty and a heart is nothing but a source of weakness.

It's also, she comes to realize – perhaps too late – a source of strength.

The divine certainty that has guided her entire existence is nearly gone and yet…the emptiness that she expected as a consequence of this last and finale exile from Heaven doesn't come.  Weakness and mortality might be her price, but the fragile human organ that struggles in Regina’s chest fills her with what she can only understand asjoy every time she looks at Emma  and the child in her arms.

There are times that the blonde woman smiles at her and Regina thinks her heart might actually be trying to escape her body.

Then she remembers what lies ahead of her and that joy dims.

She knows of others who have Fallen. Lucifer was only the first and greatest of those who turned their faces from their God.  All of them, in one way or another, are damned. She's seen them – ragged remnants of souls wandering the earth or screaming up at her from the pits of Hell.  Soon enough she'll join them.

But not yet.

And when she does, she won't be alone.

If Regina is going to die – and she knows that such is her fate – than she's taking as many of the Hell-born bastards that seek Emma and Henry with her as she can. Though cast out of the ranks of her brothers and sisters, Regina has had a millennia to hone her rage.

Hell won’t know what hit it.

* * *

 

Of all the changes she's experienced since she looked upon Emma Swan and chose, time and its elasticity has been the most shocking. To a creature of God, time has no meaning. Her will, her existence, her perception - none of that belonged to her, before. Now Regina is intimately aware of time and how it slips through her grasp.

If she weren’t utterly certain that the God who created her isn't so capricious, she might think it some kind of divine punishment - to understand the value of time and yet be given so little. As it is, she doesn’t have a chance to muse on the situation.

Hell comes for Henry Swan and this time, It finds him.

* * *

 

They run for days but in the end the Hounds are simply too many, and too powerful. Regina has used most of the last of her own power to hide her and Emma and when she sees the pack, ranging silent and deadly behind their leader as they slip down the street, shadows moving against the sun, she knows.  The certainty isn't divine, but she feels it just as deeply.  The soft ring of steel on steel chimes in the warm air of dusk as Regina draws her sword. This will be her end. Right here, on a street in a city whose name she never bothered to learn because Emma did all the driving and where they were was irrelevant as long as they were together and safe.

Her wings rustle softly as she glances over her shoulder, reassuring herself that Emma will stay back – the last line of defense if she fails – to protect Henry.  Regina almost smiles when she sees the blonde glare, her shoulders tense and her hands gripping her weapons. Nearly a year of working together and the human still hates to be protected, still wants to leap into the fight.

Regina’s chest fills with warmth and pride and something infinitely larger and harder to name.

A feather falls from her wings, drifting down to rest on the filthy cement. 

The low rumble from the Pack snatches her attention back and Regina feels a calm certainty settle over her shoulders. It's not the hand of her creator but there's a peace in its presence all the same. Some of her kindred always believed that Death was one of them, as old as God and infinitely merciful. Regina never believed. She thinks maybe she should of.  She's going to die tonight, alone and beyond the grace that was once her right, but she's not afraid. Not anymore. Her fingers around the hilt of her sword are steady,  her grip dry. There's an ache under her ribs, a hunger she recognizes as the pain that comes from knowing she won't see Emma again, won't argue over the music or watch those green eyes flash with humor. She'll never hold Henry in her arms or rock him to sleep, marveling at the perfection of humans, born out of chaos and so fragile, but he stares up at her with a smiling face and utter trust and falls asleep with his tiny hands in her hair.

This is Regina's sacrifice, the price she pays for her choice. Not her existence, but the loss of this...thing, that's grown between her and Emma, a bond that isn't supposed to exist. Angels can't love anything more than their maker. 

But Regina does. And now its time to pay the debt she owes to the one who created her. Before she does, though, she’s going to slaughter an entire Pack of Hell hounds and use the leader’s blood to cast a spell that will destroy the hounds’ master. It is a spell she can only cast because she is no longer a creature of Heaven. Regina’s lips almost quirk in amusement at the perfect irony of the situation.

In one fell swoop she'll gain her greatest victory and be defeated utterly.  Now something close to human, Regina has the capacity to appreciate the poetics of it all, even if it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

The twisted-metal screech of the hounds baying shatters the night and Regina settles her stance.

Time has run out.

* * *

 

Shunned she might have been, but Regina hasn't known defeat in direct combat in all the centuries of her service and tonight is no exception.

The bodies of hounds lie – some in pieces – scattered around her, their oily black blood covering the pavement until it looks like she stands on the surface a dark lake, the streetlights reflected in its gruesome surface like alien moons.

Some are behind her, finished off by Emma’s revolver and blessed-silver knives.

One remains.

Regina's wounded but not finished. Not yet. Her task isn't finished.  The pack leader waits for her in the middle of the deserted street, its harsh panting breaths like nails on a chalkboard. The great head hands low, bloody tongue lolling out of the gaping  maw it calls a mouth in an obscene parody of a mortal dog. Blood drips down its sides - Regina remembers her sword biting deep.  But her own skin is torn and her muscles are weak and as Regina raises her gaze to meet the  hound's glowing red eyes, she sees her own end.  For one, almost hysterical second, she thinks the beast nods in salute,  but that's impossible. Regina wipes the blood from her own eyes and shifts her stance. 

In front of her, the hound does the same. 

Her sword buries itself in the hound’s chest at the same instant the beast’s claws rip through her skin and muscle to gouge the bone beneath.

The words of the spell are carried onto the night air on a spray of blood, red and black mingling on her hands and swirling at her feet.

One last ringing scream of Hell echoes, rending the night air, and then Regina twists her sword and calls down the last of her power as she closes the spell, sealing it with her own blood.  It explodes outward, strong enough to bend the fabric of this reality for just a moment before burrowing under the surface of the world, seeking its target as surely as the hound she just killed had sought Emma and Henry.

And just like that it is done. The hound’s carcass slides slowly off her blade to land with a dull thud on the pavement. Around her the other bodies are already decaying, soon to be nothing but thick, oily dirt without the power inside them to sustain the form.

Regina sags at the sudden loss of resistance but remains standing. Barely. Her wings droop and black feathers stained in blood slowly beginning to drift downward, leaves falling from a deadened tree, only there won't be a spring for her. Regina faces an eternal winter. Emma calls her name, asking if it’s over.

 Regina lets her head fall back, looking up at the clear night sky.

"It's over," she manages, voice rough with exhaustion. Her vision is already beginning to blur. The ringing chime of her sword falling to the pavement cuts through the sound of her name being called again in growing worry.

"Regina? Regina!" She wants to turn around and tell Emma that it's alright, she did her duty, that if she hasn't earned her redemption in Heaven’s eyes she's earned it in her own and somehow, that's enough. Emma taught her that. She wonders if it was a lesson her maker wanted her to learn or just another part of her Fall. Regina wonders if she'll ever know, and then realizes it hardly matters. 

The Savior and his mother will be safe. That's what matters. Humanity won't fall to Hell. 

But her lips aren't working very well and she can taste the wet copper of blood on her tongue. She's too far gone to fully process this new facet of her mortality but there's an odd comfort in the crimson liquid she can see dripping onto the stained concrete out of the corner of her eye.  It’s the same color as Emma's blood.

Emma who she doesn't hear approaching until frantic hands are gripping at her, cradling her against a lean, familiar body. It’s the only way Regina realizes her legs have given out.

Now the stars are blocked by Hounds’-blood-streaked blonde hair and terrified green eyes that look grey in the murky neon light of the street lamps.

"You idiot, what the hell did you do?" Emma rages, even as she pulls Regina's unresisting form into her lap, maneuvering the angel’s wings carefully before whipping off her sweatshirt, messily pressing it to the gaping claw marks across Regina's chest.  It’s a futile attempt but Regina doesn’t have the strength or the cruelty to tell Emma not to bother.  She's dying and they both know it, but this too – understanding the small compassion that exists in some human lies – is a hard-earned lesson Regina won’t forget.  Besides, its comforting to know her existence has mattered enough that Emma will try to prolong it. She made a difference here. 

There should be pain but Regina's's newly-human nerves have shut down, simply refusing to process the damage done to her body. Regina feels little but cold and takes it for the meager blessing it is. Only her hands seem willing to answer to her command, and with an effort that eclipses even the fight she just won, she clumsily moves to take Emma's fingers in her own.

"I did what I had to do," Regina rasps, brow furrowing in frustration at how weak her voice has already become. "It was the only way I could think to save you."

"Damn you Regina, I never _wanted_ to be saved!" Emma's voice cracks under the strain - Regina guesses - of not yelling as loudly as possible. The mother of the savior has never been what anyone would call subtle in her anger.  The trembling of the hand beneath her own, however, tells Regina that this anger is driven as much by fear as real rage. It makes Regina smile weakly.

"This has never been about what either of us want, my dear." The phrase slips from Regina's bloodied lips and makes them both pause. How many times had the angel used those same words to taunt Emma? To goad her into doing the 'right' thing? This time it's different. This time the syllables are stripped of all their barbs, as harmless as the stem of a rose plucked of its thorns, and given with as much care.  And because Regina can feel her heart taking its last fluttering beats she continues. After all, if one can't tell the truth when dying, what's the point?

"I wanted so much more. I wanted time...with you."

She sees the moment the words register in Emma's mind. She would laugh if the devastation on the blonde's face didn't hurt so much more than the mortal wounds she cannot feel.

" _Now_ you figure it out? God damn you Regina. You selfish, stubborn…”  Emma trails off, her jaw clenching as she presses her lips them hard together.

The angel's smile is wry. "She already has my dear. I was damned from the moment I laid eyes on you."

Emma opens her mouth - to swear at her more probably - but Regina uses the last of the strength in her fingers to grip Emma's hand and silence her for a few more precious seconds.

"I do not..." it feels like she is breathing through a wet blanket and her chest is heavy but she  has to get the words out.  "I do not regret...one…single second."

It isn't rain, but tear drops on her cheeks. Emma is crying. Regina wants to tell her not to, that at last - after so many centuries spent lost and alone and angry - she's at peace. But she can't. Her human vocal chords have failed her.

The last thing Regina feels is the warmth of Emma's lips against her own, and then the light rushes in to take her.

* * *

 

Regina opens her eyes to light. Piercing, bright light. It hurts her eyes as light never has and she squints, confused.

As an angel Regina has seen Hell. She's sent many a soul there personally, shoving demons and hounds back through the gates or cracks. She knows the fires and the stench and the screaming.

This is not Hell.

“No little Sister, this is not Hell.”

Regina whirls, or her conscious shifts – wherever  ‘here’ is, she doesn’t really seem to have a body. It hardly matters, though, she'd know that voice anywhere.

“Michael!” A part of Regina wants to kneel in obeisance to her commander. Fallen or not, damned or not, Regina served the Host and her God with pride, and Michael is one of the greatest of their kind. Though she hasn’t seen them in several thousand years, Michael looks exactly like Regina remembers – the impossible perfection of a form never meant to be looked upon by human eyes. Once it would have been comforting – evidence of the enduring nature of her kind. Now, Regina's just confused.

Michael's form can't smile, but instead of the wrath she expected, Regina's given the impression of warmth and amusement.

“Do not kneel, there is no need,” that familiar, booming voice replies and the feeling of being tossed about on a stormy sea with no shore in sight intensifies.  

“Am I not to be sent to the Pit?” Regina finally asks cautiously, trying to gather her wits.

Michael shakes their head, voice filling up every fiber of her being and yet somehow, a whisper just for her.

“No little sister. Your path doesn't end in flames.”

If Regina still had eyes, she would have blinked. Michael ‘s form shifts subtly and the impression of gentle amusement returns.

“I don’t understand, I Fell…” Not that Regina particularly wants to remind the Archangel of her damnation, but context feels important.

“No, you _Chose_. They aren't always the same thing. Our kind have Fallen before; out of pride, out of jealousy, out of anger. You Fell because of love. Do you think our Father so cruel, that He would create mankind and bid us love them above all of his creations, and then punish you when you but follow His edict?”

Regina silently thinks that the rules of Heaven have never really allowed for exceptions but she’s not about to argue with the commander of Heaven’s armies. Once again that flicker of amusement is directed at her but there's sadness in Michael’s terrible gaze. Regina feels their wings brush against her soul…essence…whatever she is now. The light and warmth and power rushes through her and she gasps – a useless, human response, but one she can’t help.  The feeling isn’t comforting in the human sense but it is familiar. For that brief span she feels again what it was like to be a part of the Host. Not just an angel, but one of the accepted, the cherished.

She feels Her Grace around her.

For just an instant she is almost whole.

Almost.

Because even now, with the brush of Michael’s wings connecting her to her brethren, there is a part of Regina that longs for Emma; that wants nothing more than to hold that infuriating, selfless, impossibly brave woman in her fragile, flawed human arms, to press her lips to Emma’s skin and feel the racing beat of the blonde woman’s heart beneath her breast. Shame steals through Regina – not at the nature of her desire but that she feels it at all, here in the presence of an Archangel. But Michael’s wings brush her once more and she feels not censure, but…pride?

Then the wings withdraw, taking the grace with it. Regina doesn't mourn its loss though, She's too focused on Michael’s face, too confused.

“You Chose, Regina. And because love was the reason you Fell, choice is your reward, and your burden. As I said, you aren't bound for Hell, but your path doesn't end here. You may continue on as a human soul to Heaven or…”

Michael pauses and Regina has a fleeting thought that perhaps she spent too much time in Emma Swan’s company because for a moment the former angel has a very strong urge to strangle the commander of the Host for not getting to the damned point already.

Michael’s laughter rings across the space, buffeting Regina, though not unpleasantly. She’s not sure she’s ever heard an Archangel laugh. She didn’t know they _could._

“Forgive me, my Sister. It isn't often one of us is so marked by a human.  I see His hand on you both and it's beautiful.”

Regina is too stunned to answer, but fortunately Michael continues anyway. "You may return to heaven, or you may take your place among us again, our Sister in truth and not just name.”  

“You mean…become an angel again?”  She's never heard of such a thing.

Michael nods gravely. “Join the Host and return to Emma Swan’s side as her guardian.”

If Regina still had a heart, it would have stopped beating in that moment.

“You mean…I can go back?” she whispers, not daring to believe. Everything in her screams ‘Yes!’ but Regina clenches her jaw. Nothing is that easy.

Once again Michael inclines their head, but their mien is somber.

“You may go back, but not as you are now.” Michael stops, looking at her silently. There is too much knowledge in their eyes and Regina looks away.

As soon as she does, she understands. The possibility…and the price. Because she would be an angel again. She would be a member of the Host, with all its attendant powers…and none of her own will.

Hope - even fleeting - is an agony unlike any other when it dies and Regina feels the pain anew - a great hand crushing her from the inside.  As an angel she will feel nothing for Emma. Everything that they had built between them will have been washed away and Emma, Emma won't understand why.

“Will I even remember?” Regina manages at last.

Michael makes a movement that on a human would be a shrug, but Archangels do nothing so undignified.  “Even I can't see the whole of what lies ahead. There is choice involved, and that is not a thing our kind understands easily.”

Choice. That damned human concept they take for granted: The will to decide their own fate. The one thing God granted humans above all his creations, something barred to all angelic kind.

 And yet here Regina sits, facing a choice. Again.

She can return to earth to be with Emma and Henry and risk the chance that she never remembers, never feels what she came to feel for her charge…or do nothing, return to Heaven and leave the Savior and his mother to their fate. A fate she at least partially secured with her death.   Many would say she's earned her respite. After her sacrifice, her triumph, what is left to do?

Even as she thinks this, Regina knows the answer.  And she understands why Emma said sometimes, there _is_ no choice.

“I want to go back.” Her form, such as it is, straightens, and Regina looks upon Michael without flinching.

There's no surprise on her Commander’s countenance.

“You understand what this means?”

Regina nods, holding herself rigidly at attention. No matter what the cost, being at Emma’s side to protect her is where Regina belongs. Besides…

“The humans believe there is power in Love.  Perhaps they're right.” It’s a flimsy branch to cling to in the raging waters of the unknown but Regina holds it tightly nonetheless.

She has just an instant, a microsecond so small it is nearly immeasurable in which to feel something from Michael that feels like joy and then…

Her atoms, her soul, her essence is shattered into an infinite number of pieces.

And she is remade.

 _She_ is Light. _She_ is Heat. She is Darkness.

She is Everything and Nothing.

She is part of the Multitude. The Host.

She is Regina.

She is an Angel.

And she has her orders.

* * *

 

Regina will never be used to Earth. Some of her brethren call it beautiful and refer to their Maker’s creation with hushed tones. Regina doesn't share their awe. Oh she understands it. How can she not? They're part of each other, never truly separate in the grace of God.  She simply doesn't feel that same awe fill her being as it does the others. Regina is driven by purpose, not beauty. Her will is given over to the protection of her charges, Emma and Henry Swan - the Savior of humanity and his mother.

She sees them now, Henry standing on unsteady legs while Emma holds his chubby hands. They sit on a worn red plaid blanket that covers lush green grass under a massive oak tree. It's an idyllic setting, but Regina can also see the knives strapped to Emma’s wrists and ankles, the sawed off shotgun in the picnic basket and the blessed silver rounds next to her.

Something about the scene – not the weaponry – tugs at the angel. For a fleeting moment, no longer than it takes a blade of grass to wave in the wind – Regina thinks something is wrong, she shouldn’t be here _now_. Too much time has passed. When last she saw Henry and Emma, the boy was still a babe…But no, such a thing is irrelevant. She was sent to this place and this time and so everything is as it should be. She will wait till tonight to reveal herself to Emma Swan. Both the boy and his mother have a long and difficult path ahead of them and Regina will need to prepare the human.

She settles herself to wait, hiding in the space between one second and the next.

* * *

 

Being shot with Blessed silver doesn’t hurt Regina, but she finds herself somewhat surprised at the strength of her charge’s response to her appearance. This was…not precisely what she had envisioned.

“Ms. Swan please, I mean you no harm. I have been charged with your protection. I am an angel…”

The slap actually phases her more than the bullet. Regina blinks, taking in the human standing before her. Emma is, for lack of a better word, seething.

“…Of the Lord.” Regina finishes mildly. “You cannot hurt me Ms. Swan. I am not a demon.”

“No you’re a bitch who apparently thinks she can just waltz back here a year later like nothing has happened!”

Regina raises one eyebrow. So, time had indeed passed between her ascension to Heaven and when she was charged with Emma’s care a second time. Interesting.

“I am merely following orders. I assure you Ms. Swan, it was not my intention to upset you. We have a great deal of work ahead of us. Please come sit down, we have much to discuss.”

They are standing on the back porch of Emma’s small home. Beyond the white-painted porch railing is a large, fenced in yard with a swingset and a small sandbox. There are several brightly colored plastic vehicles partially buried in the sand. The night is clear and cool, autumn approaching. It's what Regina imagines must be considered a pleasant evening, though her charge doesn't seem to notice or take pleasure in her immediate surroundings.   In the warm light that spills from the kitchen window behind Regina, Emma’s expression is clearly visible. Unfortunately, Regina is unable to decipher the complex layer of emotions that flicker across the human’s face.  The one that remains after a few moments of tense silence, however, looks a lot like grief.

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Emma’s voice is strained and rough, as if she’s been shouting. Regina tilts her head.

“Of course. I retain all knowledge of our previous encounters.”

“No that’s not…I meant you don’t _feel_ anything do you.” Emma is looking at her with a kind of desperation that something in Regina wishes to assuage. It's the nature of the guardian, she understands, to protect her charge from any pain, even when she knows her efforts in this case would be futile. Still, there is an urge, weak and fleeting and easily stilled, to reach out to Emma.  Regina does no such thing, though. Comfort is irrelevant to her mission.

“I am an Angel. We do not feel as you understand it. My only purpose is to protect you and the Savior. I experience only that which is relevant to my mission.”

Regina has no expectation that Emma will be able to understand this now, but it doesn't matter. As long as her Charge is compliant there's no need for understanding. Still, the tears that cling to Emma’s lashes, unspilled but threatening, are unfortunate. As a guardian Regina has no wish to cause the woman pain.

“I see my presence is upsetting. I will return at another time.”

But before she can step off the porch and vanish, a hand grips her arm. Emma’s fingers are hard and tight on her wrist and though Regina could break her hold – and her arm – in an instant, she stills herself. Whatever the human has to say will have no bearing on Regina’s mission, but some part of the angel senses it is important to let Emma speak.

“No.”

“Ms. Swan…”

“Shut up. You don’t get to talk, not now. Not after…”

Regina remembers sighing and thinks such an action might be appropriate in this situation, but she does nothing. “Ms. Swan…”

“I said shut up.” And then Emma is moving. Emma is moving and gripping Regina’s face between her hands and pressing her lips to Regina’s. The kiss is hard, almost brutal but Regina stands, unmoved. The emotional expression will pass, she knows, and Emma cannot hurt her.

The mother of the Savior seems to understand this as well because her breath hitches with something like a sob and weariness makes her shoulders sag and gentles her hold, and there is rain on Regina’s cheeks.

No. Not rain.

And though it is utterly impossible, Regina finds herself back in that moment. As if transported by Her hand, she feels it all again; the cold concrete at her back, the desperate strength in Emma’s arms. Once again she is dying with Emma’s hand in hers and Emma’s tears on her cheeks.  It is the moment where she felt everything, even as she willingly gave it up. The moment when she knew love, that most human of all emotions, in all its glory and pain.

“Emma,” the woman’s name slips from her lips, a question, a plea. A prayer. Because whether this is Her work or not, there is power here. A power that steals breath Regina shouldn't have and causes her to tremble even as she reaches out and pulls Emma gently against her.

“Regina?” The angel can feel Emma’s heart racing in her chest and green eyes shine with a kind of desperate hope as Emma tips her head to look at Regina. 

Unseen by both of them, a gleaming black feather drifts gracefully to the wooden surface of the porch.

“I…remember. All of it. Emma I am…I’m sorry. I never meant to leave you.”

The hiccupping breath Emma takes is part laugh, part sob. Regina can sympathize. She has no heartbeat, not yet, but she knows it won't take long this time. She has already Fallen and feeling Emma’s body against her own, the warmth and fragile strength of this human she knows she loves beyond all things, even Her maker, Regina knows that she has Chosen in the only way she could.

Tears are spilling over the frail dam of Emma’s lashes and Regina reaches up with gentle hands to brush them away.

“But how…” Emma trails off, so many questions fighting to be heard she can’t find the words in the tangle.

Regina just smiles gently, hearing what isn’t said.

“I was given a choice. I chose you. I will always choose you. “

“But won’t that…I don’t know, get you in trouble…or something?” Green eyes narrow but the arms around her haven’t lessened their hold at all and Regina’s smile gets a little brighter. Emma hasn’t changed at all in her absence.

“It might, but do you really care?”

“Are you leaving us, leaving me, again?”

“No,” Regina replies without hesitation. Never in her existence has the truth come so easily.

“Then no, I don’t care. As long as you’re here with me, I don’t care.”

And with that, her patience for talking apparently exhausted, Emma pushes Regina back against the porch railing and kisses her again.  This time there's no desperation, only surety. This time Regina surrenders wholly, wrapping her arms tightly around Emma's shoulders and moaning softly when a knowing tongue teases past her lips.

Her grasp on time is already loosening but Regina no longer cares. She's here, in this instant, with this infuriating, brave, beautiful woman in her arms because she _Chose_. And no matter what happens, no matter the consequences, Regina knows she would – she will – make that same choice again, and again, and again, as many times as it takes until the ones she loves are safe.

 In a bed upstairs, the Savior of humanity slumbers on, unaware of the power that sparks into the night on the breeze, stirring the trees and making streetlights flicker. Tiny feet kick twice and then he quiets as below him, his mother and guardian angel cling to each other with all the foolish, fleeting joy that only humans…and Fallen angels…can know.

 

Fin

 

 


End file.
